


Seeking Light

by Liravell



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Animated Universe, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Beauty and the Bat, Beauty and the Beast AU, Dark, Don't Expect Talking Pots, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of other DC characters - Freeform, Mystery, No Disney, SuperBat, alternative universe, ghost story, grim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-06-21 17:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15562980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liravell/pseuds/Liravell
Summary: Clark Kent, a long time ago, learned that people without faith fell into despair and lost all hope. That’s the reason why he became Superman, the beacon of hope. Yet even he has limits. Even he can’t help everyone… everything… For who could ever learn to love a beast?





	1. Greed

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by with-your-poncho-on's "The Shape of Darkness" fanart and AU.  
> Made for (and thanks to) a wonderful friend, lynbee-likes/lynbee-art.

There were many reasons why he was there, or at least that’s what he was repeating in his thoughts. First, it was his duty as a reporter to chase interesting topics and inform the world about the most mysterious of cases. Second, it was his duty as Superman to make sure that people were not in danger. Third, as ashamed as he was, Clark couldn’t deny sheer curiosity that led him there.

He took a moment to take in the sight before him. The Wayne Manor was an old, beautiful building yet years of neglection left their mark on the mansion. Once vivid with laughs and parties, the manor was grim. Empty. Sad. The windows became giant holes through which the wind was rushing in and out. The walls looked as if they were about to collapse, eaten by time and poisonous ivy feeding on every fissure. The only thing that remained solid were doors. Black, heavy doors, sealed for far too long. If there was one word to describe that place, Clark would use “intimidating”.

First, he heard the story told by a boy. Richard Grayson, lively and charming, claimed to had seen a beast among these walls… Ten years ago. Clark could blame that on childish imagination or the passing time messing with boy’s memory... but he didn’t. Being Superman meant hearing everyone’s voice, listening to every story. As Clark Kent he continued the investigation, promising the editor-in-chief, that he would get a story of the past affairs and scandals or a story of gruesome and murder. Either way, the readers would love it or at least that was his official excuse, a good one apparently. Mr. White let him go to Gotham where he discovered more scraps. He found another kid, Tim Drake, who came there because of a bet and curiosity. He found a tombstone of a boy, a too-young thief, who came into the manor and was never seen again. Confronting the gossips with the police a polite laughter confirmed that many of the stories that grew around the mansion were just urban legends.

Like a good reporter, Clark Kent did his research yet what was inside the house was still a mystery. Like a good man, Kal-El walked inside.

The air was heavy from dust. He was overwhelmed by the smell of rot and ash even though he wasn’t sure how it was possible. Clark gazed through the heavy veil of darkness. The inside was everything he could expect. A cull chandelier was lying in the middle of the room, the floor was littered with broken chairs and tables that once welcomed guests, wallpaper was coming off the walls in dirty straps. And then his attention was attracted by something more meaningful. An artifact. A part of the mysterious past. A painting.

The canvas was damaged by four, clean cuts but the image was still visible. A young, wealthy man with a handsome face stood in a typical, portrait pose. His hair was black, his lips widened in a witty smile but what was the most interesting were the eyes. Two blue pools of intelligence, that were clearly meant to be destroyed by one of the cuts, looked back at Clark.

Was it the owner? A young heir to the fortune? Or maybe the founder of it? He had to take a photo, maybe local libraries will have some information about it.

‘It’s always easier to search for someone if you have a face…’ he whispered to himself while searching through his bag. It wasn’t big but somehow he couldn’t get a grip on his camera. Pencils, notebooks, a sandwich...

***

There was someone inside. He felt an unfamiliar scent of fresh mint and soap cut through the air. Another fool. Another kid wandering around? Or maybe his enemies finally realized where their bane came from?

He shot through the corridors, his steps inaudible apart from quiet scratching of his claws against the wood. He heard the uninvited visitor before he saw him. Rustling. Searching. Then he came closer and the sound stopped. He observed the man in the parlor from the stairs above. The man was young, as young as he was when this cursed tragedy happened, dressed in an awful apricot shirt, with a pair of glasses on his nose. He definitely resembled someone familiar yet he couldn’t remember who. The man looked around as if he heard him. Not possible, was it?

He hid deeper in the shadows. The man seemed to hear that too, turning in his direction. Probably he had just a really strong intuition. That had to be it. Another fool.

‘Who are you?’ The young man’s voice sounded strange in the empty room. The visitor tried to see through the darkness and for a moment his expression changed as if he really could ward off the shadows surrounding the only inhabitant of the empty mansion. Then he looked down as if to compose himself and took another step in his direction. ‘My name is Clark Kent. I’m not here to put you in any danger. I know you’re there. Please… Show yourself… Or at least, talk to me.’

Talk to him? He almost chuckled. The man clearly didn’t know what he wished for. But this time was different than the kids. This time was different than people coming here because of a bet or a stupid curiosity. He could feel it. So fascinated by the lonely intruder he did the only thing that he could. He obeyed.

‘Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Kent?’ The question was said in a voice so gruff that nearly didn’t resemble human speech. It would have sent a shiver down everybody’s spine but the intruder did not even flinch, he just kept staring into the darkness.

‘Not really.’ he lied. Although it wasn’t a complete lie. ‘The only ghosts I know are our memories. Nor do I believe in monsters. The only ones I know live inside us.’

This time he couldn’t suppress a laugh, a cold, uneasy sound that brought to mind torn metal. Sentences like that belonged on posters. So maybe his guest was a fool after all, and he knew exactly what to do to get rid of fools.

‘Funny, because you’re about to believe in monsters.’ And with that, he shot through the air.

The trespasser did not expect the attack but his reaction was quick. He dropped whatever he was holding and put himself in a fighting stance. And then the dropped thing touched the ground. Click. Pop. Flash. The blinding light illuminated the room. The attacker, in confusion, stopped before he reached his prey. His claws dig into the marble ground and then with a soft buzz came a photo. He looked at the creature captured on a Polaroid - at the dark skin, at the claws and fangs, at the wings. He looked into wild, yellow eyes. He looked at himself.

***

Clark maintained a safe distance. The beast seemed mesmerized by its photo but he just didn’t want to provoke it by coming closer.

‘Sorry, that was an accident. I didn’t want to spook you…’ he apologized even though it was he who nearly became the victim of an attack. It’s not like the beast could harm him anyway… But he preferred to leave that ace up his sleeve for now.

The creature snapped out of its thoughts and for a second they just stood there, looking in each other’s eyes. Clark’s heart started beating faster when the wilderness and yellowness of the eyes in front of him was replaced by intelligence and shades of blue. Old eyes. Familiar eyes. Those he saw on a painting. He’d like to say that all the pieces fell into places. They did not, but Clark began to understand.

‘Are you happy with what you’ve seen? The fangs of a carnivore, the wings of the devil...’ The creature hissed in his direction with anger that slowly wore out.

‘I’ve seen a lot. Nothing like you but... I think I’ve seen worse.’ For a heartbeat, the honesty in this simple statement overwhelmed both of them.

‘You’re going to stay here.’ The voice that came out of the beast’s mouth was more human than before, yet it was strong. It was cold. It demanded obedience.

‘Why should I? I’m here to help but I’m not here to stay.’ He meant that. He really wanted to help. Clark wanted to save the creature and if he couldn’t he wanted to save the city from it. He wanted to investigate but he should not stay.

‘Oh dear,’ The nickname dripped with sarcasm that gave way to gravy tone. ‘I’m not giving you a choice, Clark Kent.’

The creature turned its back on him, walked in front of the door and then its huge body fell to the floor, blocking the only way out of the mansion.

‘Then I am your prisoner?’ Clark couldn’t hide the confusion and concern. The beast looked back at him, surprise glimmering in its eyes. And then, in the most indifferent voice Kal El ever heard, it answered.

‘If that’s how you want to put it... Yes, you’re my prisoner.’


	2. Sloth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark Kent is a prisoner yet not against his will. It's his duty to investigate this place and its history. Yet there's also the aspect personal curiosity and fun, isn't there?

He sat down. The dust and dirt covered his trousers but that did not matter. He sat down facing the beast. Clark looked into its eyes. He could still see the yellow lingering on the edges of the blue irises. Studying the beast’s look he wondered. What was it? Who was it? What should he do? Should he stop it or leave it alone? Kill it or let it live? Was this the murderous and dangerous monster he heard about? Or a suffering, desperate creature which needed his help? What if it was both?

***

Why did he let Clark Kent stay? Telling the world about the beast in an old manor wasn’t the problem. He could easily take away the photo and leave him with no proof… No one would believe in Clark Kent’s story… But maybe they would believe him if… No. Either way, that was not the reason why they were here. 

He looked into the blue eyes staring at him. He despised almost everything that the human represented and yet… They were here because he was foolish enough to have hope. And even when his head told him that he let a snake into his home, his heart told him to wait.

***

The beast was worth waiting. The creature could be saved, or at least that’s what Clark wanted to believe as he stood up and whisked away the dirt from his trousers.

‘Well, since I’m your prisoner there’s not much sense in sitting here, is there?’ Kent could feel the innocently wicked smile appear on his lips. ‘Why don’t you give me a tour?’

The beast furrowed its eyebrows but the only answer to Clark’s question was a mix of huff and growl. Not very communicative. But it wasn’t a “no” either.  

And so the exploring began. The first living room was the most exquisite. Or had been. Once. The colourful sofas and upholstered chaise longues were now in pieces or missing a leg or two. The tables with once gilded decorations were now full of splinters. The mess looked almost poetic, Clark realized. His eyes rose up to a chandelier, still beautiful despite half of its crystals covering the floor. The next three living rooms were just smaller copies. After thirty minutes Clark began to wonder if there were some rooms besides living rooms or guest rooms which he was too tired to count. 

He left another room and retreated to the corridor, ignoring the shadow of the beast following his every step. Okay, if this part of the house was the more “representative” part then the less official one should be. Like, you know, a kitchen for example. 

His premonition wasn't wrong. Soon he found a beautiful kitchenette and a big, wooden table in a room covered with black and white tiles. What was the most unique while looking at the kitchen was the fact that it was not damaged. Or not as much as the other rooms. Of course, it was dirty and dusty from all the years of not using it but Clark was pretty sure that it was still functional.

With that in mind, he began checking cabinets searching for food. He wasn't sure if the beast ate human food or rats but a meal would maybe give him an opportunity to figure out what was exactly going on in here quicker. 

The kitchen was fully supplied. The cabinets were full of ingredients making the cook able to create dishes of every nationality. The cook that worked here years ago. Ingredients that were fresh years ago. Ignoring the stink of most of the food Clark searched for something that resisted time. Rice. Dried Beans. Soy sauce. Pemmican? What the hell was pemmican doing in a kitchen this fancy? 

***

He lurked in the corner of the room. His eyes followed the reporter making so much noise and cluster looking for a pan. After finding it with an adorable hum of satisfaction and cleaning it he headed in the direction of the stove.

‘The gas is out.’ He growled warning Kent of the fruitlessness of his actions yet when the human turned around the pan in his hand was already hot and food sizzling.

‘Oh, there had to be some left in the old bottle.'

‘Huh.’ Yellow eyes narrowed in suspicion and interest but the man didn’t seem to mind. 

‘Hungry?’ 

The rich, tasty smell that filled the air made him ashamed of those months while he fed mostly on rats. He watched Clark take two bowls and sit down on the floor. When the warm, fresh food was placed in front of him he really couldn’t help himself. He just… ate it. By throwing the bowl’s contents into his mouth, cleaning the dish with a few, quick licks. By the time he even noticed the outstretched hand with a fork that the reporter held in his direction Kent lowered it with an expression of pure shock which he tried to quickly shake off realizing its impoliteness. 

‘Anyway…’ the human tried to start a conversation eating his portion in small bites. ‘Have you consi…’

‘I’m sorry. I just didn’t have any company in a long time.’ He had to excuse himself. He used to be so different. Elegant, distinguished… human. He didn’t want to lose that completely. 

The reporter only smirked. ‘Company? I thought I was your prisoner.’

‘Hmpf.’ Did the reporter think he was so sly? Clark Kent is a prisoner. And maybe it’s time to treat him like one. ‘Come.’

He stood up and left the room, the reporter following his steps. They entered the labyrinth of corridors, the beast knowing its way well in the darkness. With each turn, it got darker and colder but the man didn’t seem to mind. His focus constant on the guide in front of him. Or it was until the beast heard a small laugh coming from behind. When he turned around the human had a small bat on his hand that he started to pet.

‘And where did you come from, little one?’ he cooed looking down one of the dark corridors. Something had to capture his attention as his brows furrowed trying to see through the darkness.

‘That’s none of your business, reporter.’ he growled. ‘You’re not allowed to go there. Under any circumstances. Understood?’

Clark’s uneasy gaze shifted from the corridor to him. The rest of the trip was covered in silence even heavier to that before.

‘Your bedroom is on the left. Don’t try to wander too far off. We couldn’t have you getting lost, could we?’ he growled again and left, leaving the human in the dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Sorry, it took me so long and feel free to support me with feedback!


	3. Pride

When Clark opened his eyes it was still dark. He could feel the unpleasant touch of an old mattress underneath him as he shifted to his side. He wasn’t sure what woke him but the cold brought by the night didn’t help with falling back asleep. He tossed on the mattress until he gave up on sleeping further. Trying to focus on something else his eyes traced a shadow flying in circles above him. A bat. The cute one he met yesterday. 

‘I think I will name you Ben.’ Clark whispered. Somehow, just after those words, maybe because of the sound or maybe by poor coincidence, the small bat landed on Kent’s broad chest. Small, black eyes looked at him expectantly. 

Bang. A sudden noise sent the bat back into the air. The sound of a body hitting a wall. Shattered glass. A distant growl. 

Clark didn’t wait for the catastrophic symphony to end, he ran out of his room. Adrenaline woke his body, still a bit numb from sleep, in mere seconds. The unrhythmic noises guided him through the Wayne Manor, lead him deeper and deeper until he found himself surrounded not by old corridors but rather cold stone of a cave. A bat cave.

At first glance, it seemed empty, except for a few shadows circling in the air and heavy breathing that filled it. Tentatively, he stepped into the cave. His eyes scanned through the many shadows and nooks of the cave searching for the source of the noise. And then he found it. A huge, dark silhouette laying in the corner, mostly covered by gray wings, its animal-like chest rising unrhythmically. Clark reached out with his hand. It was met with a snap of fangs that if not for his quick reflexes would have cost him a palm.

‘Don’t you dare touch me.’ The sharp growl somehow went unnoticed. Kal-El did not hear it. He did not care about Beast’s whims. Not when he saw the state the Beast was in. Now it was clearly visible. The Beast’s wings were broken, twisted into unnatural angles, the delicate membranes slit in a couple of places. A previously hidden side of its chest was ripped, the whiteness of ribs showing through hanging shreds of flesh. The pool of blood was growing under the Beast’s body. Yellow, angry… and scared angry eyes looked at the intruder. Or rather a scared, angry eye. And a bloody mess in the place of the other one.

***

Fire. It felt like fire. Fire in his veins, on his skin, in his brain. The flames grew with even the slightest movements. He wished the fire would burn him out until there was nothing else. And it almost did. Almost swallowed him whole. But then he felt someone’s warm body getting closer and closer. His body screamed danger. His feverish mind followed. But he wasn’t facing the mocking mask, but a familiar, warm face of a very annoying reporter. He froze. Unsure of what to do. Irritated and relieved by the human’s presence. He should be able to bleed out in peace, and Kent… Kent should not see him in that state. The world started spinning around and against his will, his eye closed. He could barely feel the warm hands that picked him up. He could barely wonder how. He saw glimpses -  wooden floor, white sheets, a small bat. And then he felt hands pushing against all of his cuts and bruises. For a second he wondered if the hands opened the wounds again, but as they moved to his wings - he lost consciousness. 

***

Clark did the best he could - carried it upstairs, dressed the wounds… While the Beast laid unconsciously but safely by his side the reporter let his mind wander. 

When he came here he wasn’t sure why he stayed. Now he may have found the reason. Despite dreadful gossips about this place and the angry demeanour of its inhabitant… the beast did nothing wrong. Nothing evil. It was not the thing he should protect the world from. Whatever almost ripped it to shreds was. 


End file.
